Intersection of Creation and Sorrow
by One Lonely Marauder
Summary: 600 words of angsty romance as our favorite blond realizes that she's losing herself slowly after Arnold leaves for San Lorenzo. First official completed "story" and actual written words since 2002. Be gentle, I bruise easy.


**Disclaimer:** If I owned it I wouldn't be writing fanfiction about it. Plain and simple.

**Author's Notes of Randomness: **It's 4:00am 5/27/10 Literally, it just turned 4 am. And I literally just wrote this. I've been in a pretty drastic mood lately, and the ability to put emotions to words has eluded me for years. Now, the emotions are flooding back, and not all of them are pretty. This is… my first ever drabble. I kid you not. I've read so many of them, that I guess my brain just challenged me to write something, and complete it.

Luckily my creativity streak remains between the times of 12am and 4am… well if you can call this creativity.

I know it's probably horrible and screams rusty, because you know… literally this is first set of semi-coherent words that I've written in 8 years. Pretty pathetic I know. Feel free to flame and hate and hiss and boo. I do plan on continuing and I hope I get better.

For now… read on, and please be honest and tell me bad or good it is… criticism always helps…

But if you flame just to flame. I shall use those flames to roast my marshmallows. Because you know… as a poor post-grad it's all I can afford to eat. Mmm.. Marshmallows *dozes*

**632 word drabble**

"**Intersection of…" creation and sorrow**

At one time in my life, writing was reserved for love. Broken poetry, random soliloquies and girlish childhood fantasies littered volume after volume of journals.

From the time I could write and from the moment I knew the one person I was forever in love with…. I wrote. I spoke of the beauty of a moment, the tenderness in my heart that I longed so much to show. Amidst the scattered phrases and sketches and doodles of you (and on occasion, us as adults – in wedded bliss) one could find pieces of my heart. The mysterious phrases, the passion so evident, even for a nine year old girl…

Yet, the moment you kissed my cheek and said you'd write me from San Lorenzo….that moment, the light in my heart faded ever so slightly. The pieces no longer seemed to work together, the passion and flame I once held in my soul… it started to flicker.

Where once I could spill my heart onto a sheet of paper without hesitation – now is scattered with nothings.

Where hearts and flowers were sketched so carelessly, now were just blank pages.

As minutes skipped to hours, then slowly faded into days and weeks…I watched myself fade away. As if I was someone else entirely, looking in on my life – I watched as happiness turned into sorrow. I watched as a young 10 year old girl once so full of passion, a beautiful flower of a child – wilted without her sunlight.

The petals, her fleeting smiles and rare true laughing, wilted to half hearted smiles that never quite reached her eyes and weak chuckles that she could barely force out anymore.

Soon her thoughts turned to darkness, and the books – once pink and full of love – turned into prose filled with anger and sadness. The light of her life, once a brilliant flame was now nothing but a shadow in the background.

I realized then, as I looked through the windows of my own soul, that I was slipping away. Amidst all the heartache and loneliness, I realized that I was dying. The one person who showed me unconditional love; the only person who cared…he was gone.

He left and took my heart with him; tore it from my chest and left me with a hole that no amount of comfort could fill.

I knew my friends were watching me fade away; I knew they wanted to help, but I had no clue how to let them help. I wanted to wither, like the poor flower on a late autumn's Eve. The last of the beauty that may have resided in my body died the day of my 12th birthday, when even the one person who'd been my best friend couldn't find time to call and say hi.

But I guess I'd brought it upon myself. I deserved every moment of silence, and every ounce of pain my stubbornness caused. I was no better than the bitter words on the sheets of paper scattered around my room.

So, as I sit here, at the intersection of sorrow and creation, I can't help but wonder…why am I alive? Why was I even brought into this world if I wasn't worth the time of any one in my life?

Somewhere along the line, I'd lost myself, all for a young boy with cornflower hair and eyes as delicate as emeralds. Somewhere along the road, I'd given in to the darkness, to the despair.

And now, as I watch my friends grow together, and become closer and more intimate…I wonder if I'll ever be able to pull myself back to the surface.

Will I ever be able to fight the current, or would I let the waves of twilight insanity drag me down for the rest of my miserable existence.


End file.
